Chapter 3

My mind was hazy, and I couldn't remember how many times I had called without getting through.

Thinking that Mom and Dad might be unable to answer their phones while driving, I called Jared instead, who had left much earlier.

"Jared, I'm at the hospital. I have altitude sickness."

He fell silent for a long moment before saying, "Are you seriously still making a fuss about us not taking you to Florus? Ida and you are twins—you have the same genes, so why are you the only one who makes such a big deal out of everything?"

I parted my lips, desperate to defend myself with a simple "I'm not". But it felt as if my throat were stuffed with a wad of wet cotton. I couldn't force out a single syllable at all.

"Enough. Try acting your age for once. I'm busy taking photos of Ida."

Mom's voice suddenly rang out through the phone. "Change to the side angle. Ida says the background needs to look a little more interesting."

The next second, the sharp beeping made my ears ring.

"Give Nicole oxygen. I'll sign the consent form," said Mrs. Curran, the woman who had brought me to the hospital.

She handed me a bowl of steaming chicken soup, then took a pen and signed the consent form.

"If anything happens, I'll take responsibility."

The doctor could tell that without someone signing the consent form on behalf of my family, I might not survive the day.

He hesitated, as though he wanted to say something. But in the end, he remained silent.

My phone vibrated twice. A WhatsApp notification appeared, alerting me to new messages in the group chat named "Family Forever".

Ida had sent three consecutive family photos, each taken from a different angle. In the background, Mount Alpenglow glowed brilliantly golden beneath the sunrise.

The oxygen flowing into my lungs gave me enough strength to open my eyes and make out the four of them embracing each other, their faces beaming with happiness.

My paternal uncle, Glenn Parson, commented, "What a beautiful family photo. Ida really does have the best ideas."

My paternal aunt, Jeannette Parson, remarked, "Is that Ida in the photo? She gets prettier every day."

Whenever only one of the two daughters appeared in the photo, everyone instinctively assumed it was Ida.

"But don't you have two daughters? Where's Nicole?"

I stared intently at the chat window, a faint glimmer of hope rising in my heart.

How would Mom and Dad explain this? Would they finally realize that I was genuinely ill?

The next second, that fragile hope came crashing down.

Mom replied, "Nicole is still throwing a tantrum. She's so upset that we didn't take her to Florus that she's even pretending to be sick. She almost made Ida miss the sun rising over the mountains. Honestly, that girl is such a handful. How is she ever going to manage in the real world?"

Once again, Mom laid me bare in front of everyone without a second thought.

I hadn't missed the family photo because I was throwing a tantrum or faking an illness. I was lying in a hospital bed, receiving oxygen for altitude sickness because they had insisted on taking me to such a high altitude.

I took a photo of the IV drip in my arm and sent it to the family group chat. I had just started typing a few words to explain myself when Mom's voice call came through.

So she could see my messages after all. She just didn't want to reply.

"Delete that photo right now! Have you no shame? You're making a scene in front of outsiders and embarrassing the whole family!"

Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of helplessness washed over me, leaving me too drained to explain myself.

An SMS from the airline appeared on my phone.

"Your flight to Kasgiri departs in 22 hours and 37 minutes."

Kasgiri was the next stop on Ida's carefully planned graduation trip.

But I didn't want to go anymore.

The earliest flight to Florus, Yuvo was at 10:00 am tomorrow.

I tapped the rebooking button to change my flight. Then, I left the family group chat and blocked them all.

Since I could never count on their promised "next time", I would make my way to Lake Serene—the place I had spent more than a decade longing to visit—alone.